


comeback (the Don't Mention 6.0 remix)

by El Staplador (elstaplador)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Reference To Past Injury, Remix, Skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-08 15:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15933686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/pseuds/El%20Staplador
Summary: Sara says that she's glad to be back, that her foot is feeling fine, that this season has been a challenge but that she always believed that she could win.Mila says that to take silver against Sara is as good as winning, that it's good to see her on the ice again, that it's inspired her to work harder than ever.The bronze medallist whispers something about it being a big surprise.





	comeback (the Don't Mention 6.0 remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/gifts).
  * Inspired by [debut](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12443091) by [verity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity). 



Mila has more or less got over the 'want to crawl into a hole and die' feeling by the time they get to the end of the press conference. The routine helps, a little. Sara says that she's glad to be back, that her foot is feeling fine, that this season has been a challenge but that she always believed that she could win.

Mila says that to take silver against Sara is as good as winning, that it's good to see her on the ice again, that it's inspired her to work harder than ever.

The bronze medallist whispers something about it being a big surprise.

Afterwards, when they've left the booth and the press have all trooped out, Mila is the one who suggests that she and Sara go and get a drink to celebrate.

The bronze medallist glances across hopefully, but not expectantly. Mila ignores her. It's past her bedtime anyway.

Sara glances over at her brother, who's actually been _taking notes_. 'Yes,' she says. 'OK, then.'

Nowhere is open by time time they get back to the hotel, and the idea of sitting in the bar with everybody else, all that sympathy and disappointment swirling around them, the coaches dissecting everything, just feels too much.

'Let's go up to my room,' she says, and Sara looks vaguely surprised, as if she hadn't been expecting anything else to be an option.

  
She pours out a shot of Mamont for each of them. (Victor's recommendation. Or, to be precise, his fifth recommendation, but the first one that came within her budget. Victor hasn't had to buy his own vodka in at least a decade.) 'Here we are!'

Sara smiles, and answers as if Mila had been aiming for a meaningful remark, not just a toast. 'It's good to be back.'

'I'm glad you are.' She's almost surprised to find that she means it.

Sara doesn't answer, just sips delicately at her vodka.

'It was weird,' Mila says, 'knowing all the time that you weren't there. Wondering if it would still have been gold, if you had been. Now I know.'

'Not really.' Sara is philosophical. 'You really were amazing last season. I don't think I could have beaten you even without a broken foot.'

'And now I've gone downhill?'

'It doesn't help,' Sara points out, 'that they've changed the scoring.'

'You make it sound very official.'

'You have to admit it. They are scoring differently.'

What she actually means, Mila knows, is that the judges have started leaning more on the program components and less on the technical score. Suddenly her tactic of piling all the jumps into the second half of the program, arms raised, doesn't look so clever, but it's still her only hope. They're refusing to be dazzled by skill, now; they want artistry. She and Victor tried to control for that in the choreography, choosing _Coppélia_ for the short program and _Blade Runner_ for the free in an attempt to make a selling point of her rather soulless skating. It hasn't helped all that much.

'You mean, you used to win when the system was biased in my favour, and so it's a foregone conclusion now.'

'Mila...' There's a warning, reproachful tone to Sara's voice; clearly she's been as generous as she is going to be. She's never had the patience for recriminations or what-ifs.

'Yes. Sorry.' She pours out another slug of vodka for each of them. 'The season's not over yet.'

'No.'

'I'll get you next time,' she says, because of course she has to.

'Would you like to bet on it?' Sara grins. She scoots up close to Mila and puts her head on her shoulder.

Mila wouldn't like to bet on anything at all. She says, 'So, what do you make of Alison Smith's new free program?'

  
In the morning, Mila's still fully clothed, with a hangover that she doesn't really think she deserves, and Sara's gone.

She dresses painfully, dutifully. The chances of Yakov letting her skip practice are remote. Sara's coach is more indulgent: in the Italian camp, a gold medal merits a lie-in.

She tells herself that she wasn't hoping to see her at the rink – it would have been so awkward – but she knows that really she'd have put up with any awkwardness.

 _Well_ , she thinks, _perhaps at breakfast._

But Sara isn't there at breakfast, either. Yuri sees her looking, and scowls at her. No change there. She wanders over and ruffles his hair. It doesn't improve matters, but then she wasn't really expecting it to. It won't be long before she has to reach up to do this. He's grown tall, fast.

'There are other people in the ladies' singles, you know,' Yuri says. 'The way you two go on, it makes me sick.'

Mila knows it's bait, but she takes it anyway. 'What do you mean, _the way we go on_?'

'Like you don't care about how anybody else skates.' He pauses. 'Or like you do care about what the other one does.'

It hardly needs saying, so far as Mila's concerned. Sara's been the one to beat for as long as she's been in seniors. And if she hasn't enjoyed quite the same untroubled reign as Victor has in the men's singles, well, she's still been the embodiment of ladies' figure skating. But it's news that Sara feels the same way about Mila, and Mila hugs the knowledge to herself all the while she says, 'What's it to you? You're not skating against us.'

He grunts, 'You're just, like, so _obvious_. It's embarrassing.'

Mila smacks him gently round the head and wishes that there was something to be obvious about. As for the rest of the field, she'll worry about them when they start posing a serious threat to her and Sara.

  
Having found a table to herself, she sips at her unsweetened tea and tells herself that it would never taste right anyway, no matter how much sugar she might spoon in.

Would things be different, she wonders, if they weren't competitors? But that's a stupid question. Of course they would be different. Things would be so different that the two of them would be completely different people. Last season was strange enough; she doesn't want to imagine a world where Sara's never on the same ice that she is.

And here they are again, already, another competition over and done, and only the gala left in which she might be able to make any kind of point.

  
The exhibition has a completely different feel from the competition. The cold, bright lights of competition are merciless; whatever she does out there, it's judged and found wanting. Here, in between the shadows and the spotlights, it feels safer to show herself, to let the world see what she really wants.

Victor knows what she really wants. Mila's mortified. She'd probably have got away with it, pretending that the story she's telling is entirely fictional, has no real-life message. Victor's so self-absorbed, he'd never have noticed, but Yura ratted on her, told him that she'd cried in the cinema. And why.

Victor went on and on about Mila's secret love and beautiful soul, and then choreographed her a skate that said everything she wanted to. 'It'll be a challenge for you,' he said, 'but it's an exhibition! It doesn't matter! If it works then maybe I can lengthen it and make it into your free program for next year.'

But Mila isn't thinking about next year. She's thinking about now, about the fierce, urgent, chords of this track, about how Sara was talking about skating to a song from this film, about how, if she gets it right, Sara will _understand_.

Usually, Mila doesn't remember the detail of her skates after the event; she's concentrating so hard in the moment that she doesn't have any space left for memory. ( _Work on the flow_ , Yakov's notes always say.) This time, she's not worried about the elements. She doubles, even singles, the jumps; they aren't important now. But her Ina Bauer is outrageously showy, and her spreadeagle even more so; she's opened out on the ice, here, offering all of herself, in the hope that Sara will see that, and want it. Want _her_.

  
She doesn't have a chance to talk to Sara until after they've both performed their exhibitions, and all the skaters are pouring onto the ice to pull together their finale as best they can. As always, it's a hurriedly choreographed affair; they're all holding hands and skating around the rink like six-year-olds. Somebody thought it would look good to have the circle break and then tighten into a spiral, and Mila's at the end. She pulls Sara along after her, and everybody follows, pulling closer and closer.

'Did you like my skate?' she asks Sara as the group coalesces into a ragged, laughing gaggle. She isn't exactly dreading the answer, but she's dreading the way it might come. She knows that Sara will lie about what she thinks if she needs to, and she knows that she'll be able to tell if she does.

But Sara just hugs her, and says, loud enough for Mila to hear, too quiet for anybody else, 'How could I not like it? It was you.'

That doesn't tell her much about the skate, Mila thinks, but it tells her what she needs to know, all the same. And it isn't the fact that she's at the centre of the spiral that's making her giddy. It's the fact that it's Sara who's spinning her around.


End file.
